


Fixing Things

by wiltshire



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cults, Mental Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 23:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiltshire/pseuds/wiltshire
Summary: They were always the same. Hushed voices, sure they wouldn't be heard by him as he passed in his cloak. Led by his advisor to the front of the room so that he could be present for all the sermons. The eyes of the followers would all be him as they continued to whisper to each other about him. It made him feel nauseous, knowing they all were here thinking he would bring them some kind of salvation.





	Fixing Things

As soon as he stepped into the room, the whispers started.   
  
_"There he is."_  
"Is this really our savior?"  
"Shh! Don't disrespect him. We'll be condemned."  
  
They were always the same. Hushed voices, sure they wouldn't be heard by him as he passed in his cloak. Led by his advisor to the front of the room so that he could be present for all the sermons. The eyes of the followers would all be him as they continued to whisper to each other about him. It made him feel nauseous, knowing they all were here thinking he would bring them some kind of salvation.  
  
That was probably the worst part of all of this. They all believed in his power, and the title he'd been given. He was labeled an Ultimate, so that meant he was the real deal, right? He had to be. Right.  
  
His advisor droned on about how important it was that they believed every word he said. It was always the same spiel he'd give them. Different faces, same story. They were all here to be saved from something, though they wouldn't find any help here. Nobody would, really. It was a sick scam, taking advantage of the desperation of all these people. It made Orimi want to start crying. Many nights, he did.   
  
Right when it was starting to get unbearable again, the sermon ended. His advisor thanked them all for coming, and the crowd dispersed. Orimi let out a sigh of relief. He'd made it through again. When his advisor cleared his throat, he snapped to attention.   
  
"God, have you been focusing on the teachings?" He'd used that name again. It made his stomach turn, just hearing it. Orimi looked away, and nodded. He hadn't been listening, but he didn't need another lecture. "Good. You've begun taking your position seriously, then. I won't be able to hold your hand forever." Orimi shrunk down. He nodded, keeping his head bowed.  
  
"I.. understand. I'll.. try harder." Came his quiet reply. His advisor scoffed in response.  
  
"Speak more clearly. No one will ever listen to you if you don't fix that dreadful pausing of yours. It's ridiculous, God." His voice was like a knife, cutting right through him. He wanted to scream. To run away and never come back. He wanted nothing more than to be away from this hellish place they called a temple. Instead, he just winced. He kept his head down.   
  
"I'll fix it." Orimi was only able to get a few words out without pausing. This was enough for his advisor, for the time being at least. He turned away from Orimi, beginning to walk down the aisle.   
  
"Good. Back to your room, then. Don't come out until you've fixed your problem. I don't want to see you until you do."   
  
And with that he was gone, leaving Orimi in the room alone. He took his book, and did as he was told. He tucked himself into the corner of his bed and began crying. He would fix it. He would do what he was told. He wouldn't disappoint his advisor.   
  
And one day he would die here.   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
